


The Duchess's Son

by WolfIsa



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abusive Parents, Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Fluff and Smut, High Rock, M/M, Manipulation, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfIsa/pseuds/WolfIsa
Summary: Kavan never wanted to return home.  It wasn't that he hated his mother or his homeland but the life she wanted for him was not what he did.  Unfortunately, the invitation he just received wouldn't allow him to avoid her any longer.  Meanwhile, his Shield-Brother Vilkas is discovering feelings he didn't realize he had.





	1. Prologue

“Got something for you, your eyes only,” the courier greeted cheerfully, handing over a gilded letter.

Kavan immediately knew before even opening the message what it was and sighed under his breath. He tipped the man a few septims and his companions all gave him a puzzled glance. 

“What is it?” Lucien asked, his curiosity over-writing any sense of tact he might have had normally. 

“An invitation,” the Breton responded with a clear lack of interest as he turned to continue up the stairs to Jorrvaskr, going inside. 

Once inside, everyone took a seat around the firepit, gathered around him like a bunch of children anticipating storytime. The redhead would have preferred to be left alone for this but he learned long ago, there was no such thing as a secret in this group he’d managed to gather.

The parchment of the letter was high quality. Silky and crisp, the edges intricately ornate with what seemed to be real gold, the scent of a flowery perfume wafting from the fibers that made not only Kavan, but Inigo and the approaching Vilkas’ noses all curl as they fought to not sneeze from the strength.

“You could sell that for some good coin,” Hoth jokingly yet completely seriously recommended as the company leader turned over the letter to see the wax seal.

“Yeh, if I was lookin’ t’ get arrested,” Kavan replied dejectedly, “Tis a bloody royal seal.”

“Ooh, an invitation from royalty? From High Rock no doubt of course?” The Imperial excitedly questioned, receiving a nod in confirmation.

“What are you doing getting an invitation from there?” Vilkas asked as he joined the party that had come in.

Kavan removed his gauntlets, setting them down before popping open the wax crudely with one of the cheese knives on the banquet table, unfolding the paper and his breath almost immediately catching in his throat. Auri noticed the reaction and motioned to the blond to grab the letter and read it out-loud as she placed her hand on the Breton’s shoulder.

“Most Honorable Kavan Boucher, Victor of the Mad Pelagius Tournament, Proud Chevalier son--”

“Get on with it,” Hoth interrupted, clearly not caring for the flowery titles he was sure would continue for too long.

“--Right, sorry. _Ahem_. Your mother, the Madame Katarin Ambrosie-Boucher de la Alcaire presently to become Her Illustrious Highness Katarin Lapre-Ambrosie-Boucher, Duchess of Camlorn bid you summons to the March of Beauty and following festival’s tournament celebrating the announcement of this joyous union.” The blond paused to read further down, exclaiming shortly, “Oh my… Corollary for refusal of this summons is...minimum twenty summers in Ducal iron…”

“What in Oblivion is that bullshit?” Hoth grunted in disgust, Inigo and Vilkas nodding in agreement. “Why are they threatening you if you don’t want to go?”

Kavan groaned, sliding down in his seat, “It means me mother has _plans_ fer me.”

“What kind of plans could she have?” the Bosmer asked, slightly concerned about the severity of the threat. 

“No fuckin’ idea,” he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Last time I was home she was tryin’ to marry me off t’ some lass in th’ Wayrest court ‘cause her daddy was a rich-un an’ money all she’s ever cared ‘bout. She’s becomin’ a bloody Duchess now--”

“Which means she’s about to be filthy in septims,” Hoth finished. 

“This smells fishy, my friend,” Inigo chimed in, “And I don’t mean the perfume on that letter though that smells awful too.”

Lucien was still reading and piped up again, “Well, if it is a trap, perhaps you can be saved from it. It says here, ‘You are permitted as many guests as you would please.’ We could accompany you, and I for one, will be going. Always wanted to see one of those High Rock tournaments myself.”

Auri jabbed the scholar in the ribs, “Ow! Of course to make sure this isn’t some nefarious plot against Kavan too.” 

At this point Aela had come to insert herself in the conversation, detecting the sense of dread emanating from her Shield-Brother, “Vilkas, you should go with them.”

The Nord man shot a look of surprise at her, “What? Why?”

“You know why. We owe it to make sure that Kavan comes back to Jorrvaskr and you’re probably the only one who could stand to be in that kind of setting without doing something to worsen the situation.”

“Wh--huh?” 

“She means you probably won’t insult his _mummy_ and get everyone arrested,” Hoth clarified, rolling his eyes. 

“That rules you out though, Hoth,” Auri commented, getting no disagreements even from the mercenary himself.

“Still going though. I’ve heard about this March of Beauty thing and I’m not missing that.”

Kavan finally sat back up proper, a hand running through his longer side of hair, “This is goin’ t’ be a disaster.”

“We’ll be there with you. Whatever happens, we’ve got your back,” Inigo assured.

“We won’t let you go through this alone,” the Bosmer agreed.

Vilkas sighed, realizing the others were right. He couldn’t abandon the redhead, not after so many years and everything he had done for the twin as well as the warriors, “You’re a Companion, Duchess or not, your mother will have to go through me to get you.”


	2. To Camlorn!

The trip across the Nord homeland was surprisingly for the most part uneventful for Kavan’s company. The occasional attempted bandit raid or Reachmen attack was had in Skyrim but with six experienced fighters, there was never a point where things were dangerous. 

At the province border was where it started to get interesting. There, waiting at the gates was an entire Breton guard detachment. A man fully dressed in gaudy gold and blue plate armor approached the company and bowed. 

“I am Captain Yann of the Ducal Royal Guard. Lord Boucher, I presume?” he greeted, raising his head to look at the redheaded Breton before him.

“Jus’ Kavan, mate,” he said, denying the address of the noble title. 

The captain as well as the rest of the guardsmen laughed a little awkwardly among themselves before falling back in line.

“Yes, well, we’ve been charged with escorting you and your guests to the city. As the son of the future Illustrious Highness, your safety is of the utmost importance.”

“Did me mum assign this?” the spellsword questioned.

“Nay, my lord. This duty was granted by His Highness, the Duke. He wishes his soon-to-be son to arrive in good health.”

“Awful kind gesture fer a man born from another,” Kavan crudely pointed out.

“The Duke is a kind soul and he is excited, nay, overjoyed to welcome you in to his family.”

“An’ I’m assuming sendin’ ye and yers back without me and mine is out’a the question?”

“You would be correct, Sir. We are to deliver you to Camlorn safely upon pain of death and we intend to do as such.”

Kavan resisted the urge to groan in annoyance, “Jus’...great. Lead on then, Capt’n.” 

The man nodded and began barking orders to pack up the camp they had set up beyond the border gates as the redhead glanced back at his fellows with a troubled expression. The other five merely shrugged, not really knowing what to do about this themselves and they were just as annoyed and suspicious about this escort as their leader was.

Crossing through High Rock proved to be slightly more risky than any of Kavan’s company thought it would be. Even between the six fighters and the additional five men of the escort guard, the stronger cousins of the Forsworn were practically _everywhere_ it seemed like and not a day went by through their travels that there wasn’t at least one attack. The guardsmen, to their credit, showed they took their assigned duty seriously and it wasn’t often that their lord himself was able to join in the fray before all enemies were slain. This fact, though Lucien was delighted about it, made Kavan irritable and most of his fellows were quick to notice as they knew if there was one thing that the spellsword lived for was fighting. 

* * *

One night, Vilkas attempted to remedy this issue somewhat, offering to spar with his Shield-Brother. Thankfully, the escort allowed this when Kavan finally took advantage of his title and commanded they do so.

The other four of the Breton’s ragtag company didn’t seem all that interested in watching as they’d seen Kavan in action far too often to care but the chaperones watched intently. Though if their interest was purely in making sure there were no injury dealt to their charge or if they were genuinely keen on seeing their lord’s combat prowess it was a mystery.

Finally being able to do _something_ gave the redhead the biggest grin. Brandishing his blade, Kavan asked, “Ye want me thanks before or after I trounce ye, Vilkas?” 

“Don’t talk big. Ego isn’t becoming of a lord,” the raven-haired man provoked in response earning a few chuckles from their audience.

“Oh, that’s how ye gon’a be, is it?”

“It is. Now, did you want to do this or should we sit and sip tea instead?”

Kavan rushed forward, his shield raised instead of retorting. Vilkas gripped his greatsword and braced the length of the blade to hold against the force of the bash. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of light reflect off the other’s sword as it came from behind the shield for an attack and he slammed against the metal wall to disrupt the motion and hopped back a step. 

The redhead, though frustrated with his initial assault being thwarted wasn’t deterred. He licked his top lip, propping his weapon and buckler in a phalanx stance and starting to circle around his fellow. The warrior did the same, grey eyes focused on every step his opponent took. The moment one foot shifted to the side a little too much, he struck, raising his blade and guiding Kavan’s shield arm to follow only for him to stop midway and quick as lightning move to sweep the sword from the other direction, the flat of it smacking against the Breton’s knee, sending him stumbling to the dirt. 

“Lucky hit,” the Breton said, laughing just the tiniest bit as he got back on his feet.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Vilkas confidently replied, preparing himself as the other man charged once again and was shot to the ground once more.

“You’re too anxious. Loosen up,” Hoth shouted without even raising his eyes from the card game he and Inigo were playing. 

“Don’ need yer advice,” Kavan shouted back through his teeth in frustration. 

“He’s right though,” Vilkas agreed with the mercenary’s words. “You haven’t had this much difficulty against me since you joined The Companions. Come on.”

A slightly more animalistic growl bubbled from the spellsword’s throat as he went in for another attack, this time damn near tackling the Nord with his shield but when it became apparent there was no follow through, he got thrown off, landing to the side on his belly.

“Tis a good thing the Duke sent us to protect him, eh?” One of the guards whispered to another and both Vilkas’ and Kavan’s eyes shot toward the man before the Nord’s moved back to meet his Shield-Brother’s. 

The man stood up, a somewhat eerie calm seeming to wash over him as he unbuckled the straps to his shield and dropped it to the soil with a muted pang. That drew the previously uninterested party’s attention and their mouths went dry. A shiver of anticipation worked its way up Vilkas’s spine as he looked into the other’s blue eyes, knowing the man was only seeing red now. That comment from the guard sparked a bloodlust in Kavan that only the Nord could understand. 

He wasn’t sparring Kavan the Breton spellsword now. He was facing Kavan the Wolf.

The redhead dug his heel in the ground, blade held low in one hand while the other remained free and open, eyes fixated on the figure before him. His once friendly grin replaced with a more beastly grimace. 

A silent beat hit before he was again rushing upon the Companion. Vilkas raised his blade yet again to block only for it to be knocked out of the way by the other’s, metal scraping loudly against each other. Their heads clashed, helms banging against each other as the Breton’s free hand reached out in a claw-vice for the man’s throat, missing by a mere hair’s width before that was abandoned in favour of grasping his wrist instead. The raven-haired man wasn’t quick enough to react as his grip on his blade was forcibly loosened and his arm twisted by Kavan who side-stepped and went around him. A knee found itself planted in his back and Vilkas’s face smacked the dirt. He grunted in actual pain as his arm continued to be contorted behind him, the weight of his friend pressing further down on him. He struggled against being pressed further down, hips bucking back, his other hand that had long let go of his blade clawing at the ground to give him some kind of extra leverage in an attempt to get free. However, even as he fought, his nose couldn’t help but pick up on Kavan’s scent. The dusty earth in his nostrils, sweat and metal, the subtle undertone of canine barely being overshadowed cologne, and...was that arousal? 

“Kavan, stop!” rang out from the others, the voice only causing a pause in the assault.

Soon, the sound of shuffling and growling was heard and the weight was lifted off Vilkas.

The man stumbled to his feet to see Inigo, Auri and Hoth all dragging Kavan away and attempting to snap their friend out of his state. He continued to struggle against their hold for a few moments, the escort guards all watching in understandable confusion until he finally spoke. 

“Let go o’ me ye bunch of--” 

Hoth clocked him in the back of the head right below his crown-helmet, “Calm it, lordling!”

“Agh! Damn it, fine!” 

They finally let him go and he moved to rub the spot Hoth had hit him, hissing slightly and grumbling under his breath before glancing over at Vilkas. The once blood-thirsty gaze in his eyes gave way to an apologetic stare but he didn’t say a word, only turning to retreat to his tent. 

Everyone checked up on the Nord, and while he was quick to ease their concerns over him, he remained mindful of his own concern for Kavan. Amazingly, Hoth was the only one of the group able to convince the guardsmen of some bullshit story explaining what had happened, the others working to try and back up everything as best they could. During this, Vilkas took the opportunity to check in on the redhead.

When he entered the tent, Kavan was three bottles deep in mead, working on his fourth. He was sitting on his bedroll in linen trousers and tunic, having had removed everything but a single leg of his armor and his crown was dangling from a knot in his hair. He shifted just enough to spy who had entered before went right back to drinking.

The Nord sighed deeply, stepping over and kneeling down in front of his friend. “That wasn’t your fault,” he asserted, moving to remove his own gauntlets then working on freeing the tangled helm horn from the other’s locks.

“Ain’t it though? I damn near was ready t’ rip ye t’ shreds… We was only sparrin’...I shouldn’t’ve…”

“Kavan, that wasn’t you. That was the call of the blood.”

“Th’...how? That’s ne’er affected me like that before.”

“You also haven’t been able to fight anything for days but have still been around battle. The wolf can only handle so much before it gets too antsy. I thought us sparring would alleviate some of that but it looks like I offered too late. If anything, that’s on me.”

“Don’ say that. Yer not responsible fer that.”

“I’m the only one here that knows what it’s like. I’m pretty sure Aela saw something like this coming and that’s the real reason she sent me along. You were already stressed about going to see your mother and that alone is enough for most men to be taken over but added to it was you not having an outlet for your aggression? I’m surprised you didn’t snap sooner.”

A chuckle rumbled out from the Breton, “Snap. That’s a good way o’ puttin’ it. Thank th’ Divines I didn’t change…”

“You still might if you aren’t able to engage in some combat or another physical activity. It was a close call tonight and you were brought back to your senses but it didn’t fix anything.”

“Tch...I doubt even after that th’ Duke brigade out ‘ere will let me get a lick o’ battlin’ in. So what am I ‘posed t’ do?”

Vilkas sat back once he finally got the horn undone and cleared his throat, scratching his cheek and glancing away, “You could uh...well...ah…”

The redhead looked over at the Nord, noting his face getting a little flushed in embarrassment and cocking a brow at him. “Could what?”

“C-Could...sleep with someone?”

Kavan nearly dropped his mead bottle as he curled over, a loud laugh bursting out of him. “Ye suggestin’ I have a roll in t’ hay wit’ somebody ‘ere? Wit’ who?”

“I don’t know, Auri?”

The man sat back up, his voice still jittering with the remnants of laughter, “Listen, mate, Auri has ‘er eyes set on Lucien. An’ before you say anythin’ I’m not interested in rutting wit’ Hoth or Inigo and th’ feelin’ is mutual. An’ th’ guards have a big enough stick up their asses wit’out me addin’ mine too.” He leaned forward again but this time to get a bit closer to his friend, his voice growing a bit low, “So, unless _yer_ feelin’ up fer it, we’re gon’a have t’ think o’ somethin’ else.”

The raven-haired man sputtered at the suggestion, his face tinting a little more which garnered an amused, albeit puzzled reaction from Kavan. 

“I’ll take that as a nah, then,” he said after a few minutes since Vilkas couldn’t seem to formulate a full word and took another swig of his mead. 

It was quiet in the tent for awhile, Vilkas rolling his tongue around in his mouth trying to figure out something to say while the Breton simply sat and drank, having moved on to another bottle. He had offered one to the raven-haired man but he turned it down prompting even more curiosity from his fellow. Eventually, they had sat in silence for so long that even the muffled sounds of everyone outside the tent had died down and it was apparent the first round for sleep was starting. Vilkas excused himself, refusing to acknowledge the awkwardness of the last half hour or so he had just shared with the other man as he went back to his own tent to lay down.

* * *

Later that night, the smell hit him again. Heady sweat...dirt...damp fur...cologne…arousal. Then sounds. No metal this time. Heavy breaths, grunting, a quick moan. Suddenly, his eyes were open and met with blue ones in front of him. They were outside by the fire, just the two of them. Kavan was shirtless, his torso dripping with sweat, mouth hung slightly agape. The Nord was still in his underclothes but could feel a hand from his friend beneath his tunic, nails ever so gently scraping at his stomach. Another moan but it was from him this time and he glanced down to see the redhead in his lap, his hips rolling in to his own. 

“Ye really wanted this, huh?” The Breton murmured.

Vilkas could feel his face growing hot but unlike earlier, his mouth and body weren’t scrambling for a response. He brought a hand back behind the other man, lightly caressing his rear, fingers pressing in to the cloth of his pants and pulling him closer as the other’s movements continued. Leaning forward, he took in a big whiff of the redhead’s scent, his teeth going to nip at his shoulder. 

“Yes…keep going…” he replied in such a needy voice he hardly recognized it as his own before latching on to a patch of skin, biting just enough he knew it’d leave a mark.

“ _A-ah_...Vilkas…” Kavan groaned, one hand moving to paw desperately at the man’s chest, his other hand coming to tangle in dark hair, keeping the Nord close. His hips shuddering just enough to change the pace of their motion from slow and lengthy to erratic and shallow. 

Vilkas tongued the mark he made, starting to growl in desire as he moved on, nipping along the way, teeth catching an ear lobe before he met the Breton’s mouth, swallowing a gasp from the redhead as their lips connected. 

Pressure started to grow and Kavan’s motions started becoming harsher, more needy. The hand groping his chest ventured down, grasping both their lengths in it and rubbing along with his hips still rotating on top of him. Vilkas gripped the other’s ass tighter, his other hand wrapping around his back to hold him close.

“F-fuck...gonna…” The Nord warned against the other’s lips, feeling the tension below coiling tighter. 

His eyes shot wide open. 

It was just before dawn and the distant sound of chirping could be heard beneath, “You’re so smart, Mr. Dragonfly…” next to him.

He groaned and sat up. “...Damn it…”


	3. Crave and Refrain

Nearly everyone was up and about by the time Vilkas had managed to get dressed and Inigo awake and they emerged from their tent. A few of the guards that were on the second to last watch shift were still sleeping as well as Lucien and Kavan. Auri was busy preparing breakfast with the captain for the group and she sent the newly awakened men to go get the sleeping stragglers of their inner group. Inigo’s strategy to wake up the scholar was to run in the tent yelling, effectively scaring the daylights out of him if the terrified screeches were anything to go by while Vilkas took a...different approach.

He stepped into the tent quietly, not surprised that the noise of laughter and shouting outside hadn’t managed to break the redhead’s slumber and he squatted next to his bedroll. Kavan was completely out, the only indicator he was even still alive being his breath moving a fluff of hair in front of his face back and forth. The Nord took in this sight for a moment before his mind flashed memories of his dream and his cheeks went hot. He rubbed his face and grumbled to himself trying to shake such thoughts but it was proving a fruitless effort as he was right next to the object of that dream. He didn’t want to think about it. Granted, that wasn’t the first dream he’d had like that. No, there were a few nights he woke up feeling more drained than he should’ve with a tightness in his armor he shouldn’t have had but those were all faceless people. Just bodies his mind conjured to subconsciously feed his own body’s desires. Last night’s dream was the first time he’d put a face on a body. Kavan’s face. His voice. His scent. His…

He felt it growing warmer in his armor and moved to almost violently shake the sleeping Breton. “Wake up!” he commanded before hastily leaving the tent leaving a very confused and groggy Kavan sitting up in his bedroll wondering what in Oblivion was that?

Hoth noticed Vilkas’s urgent pace back to his and Inigo’s tent, spying the flushed look on the man’s face and started laughing to himself before following much to his fellow Nord’s dismay.

“You got it bad, Companion,” he stated as he walked into the tent, making sure the flaps were closed before saying so.

“I’ve got nothing--,” the raven-haired man began to protest but realized it wouldn’t be any use. This man wasn’t like Farkas or Kavan. He was intelligent and perceptive. A little too perceptive. “Alright, yes, kind of. What’s your point?”

“So fucking tell him. Tell him. Fuck him. Move on. It’d save all our asses a load of trouble in the long run.”

“That’s it? That’s your advice?” the younger Nord agitatedly questioned.

Hoth shrugged, pointing his thumb behind him. “Yeah? Kavan ain’t a complicated guy. You don’t need to do more than tell him you’re interested. Man’s pent up to the point of exploding and it’s probably not just physically, you’re bound to get a positive response. ...Might keep the rest of us awake for a night or two but if it means he won’t almost kill someone again like last night I’m prepared to make that sacrifice.”

Vilkas couldn’t believe it. As ridiculous as this ‘advice’ was, it made too much stupid sense. That, and though he and Kavan were Shield-Brothers, the mercenary knew him better than he did. He himself had barely been around the redhead save for the few times he was taken out on contracts with him. Maybe he was making this whole thing out to be more problematic than it was? But then…

“I’m not even sure if I actually want to _be_ with him.”

“Who said anything about being with him? I just said fuck him. Get it out of his system. Hell, get it out of _your_ system. You’re a warrior that lives in a damn mead hall, live a little. Get laid, dumbass.” With that, Hoth left to go eat. He wasn’t the kind of man to have heart-to-heart talks and that was as good as it was going to get from him.

The conversation, if one could even call it that, left Vilkas standing in his tent, confused and conflicted.

Out by the fire, the food was ready and Kavan finally joined the others to eat. He momentarily acknowledged Hoth leaving Vilkas’s tent but his mind, still tired, didn’t think anything of it. Besides, the smell of breakfast was hitting his nose and he was eager to dig in. It had to have been another twenty minutes before the Companion came out of hiding and to everyone, save Inigo, Kavan and Lucien, it was noticeable when he took a seat farthest away from the Breton. Their escort guard merely chalked it up to the spar gone wrong the previous night while the other two in the group seemed to be the only ones who had a guess somewhat of what was going on. 

And so it was for the next three days. Vilkas would actively avoid the future son of the Duke all while still catching as many looks at him as he could without the man noticing, fighting any desire that rose up from them. Kavan would get irritated by the lack of action but would force himself to keep quiet about it to try and avoid hurting anyone again, all while pretending not to realize he was being watched with wistful eyes. Lucien and Inigo were blissfully unaware and gleefully spoke openly about their excitement for the visit, and Auri and Hoth spent the time carefully watching both werewolves to see who would break first.

* * *

After supper on the third night, Vilkas attempted to retire to bed early but was stopped by an overly concerned Bosmer in the tent.

“Not you too?” Vilkas said to her, already knowing what she was confronting him over. 

“Yes, me too. You need to talk to him, he’s going to think you hate him.”

“No he’s not, he’s got other things on his mind more important than my speaking to him.”

Auri stepped closer, her gaze hardening to be intimidating. It wasn’t working very well with her being so tiny but the Nord could sense her seriousness at least. “He already thinks he messed up with you, Vilkas, don’t you get it? You haven’t talked to him since your match where he hurt you. If you don’t talk to him soon he’s going to think he’s lost a friend forever!” Her eyes started to tear up and Vilkas realized she wasn’t talking to him about the same thing Hoth had. She was genuinely concerned for his relationship with their party leader.

The man sighed, “It’s not because of the sparring match. I had a...dream about him...and me…” he cleared his throat, “you know…”

The archer’s expression shifted from upset to confused to surprised with a little bit of anger. “Is that all? You’re avoiding him because you had a _sex_ dream about him?”

Vilkas rushed to cover the woman’s mouth, shushing her. “Keep your voice down! He can’t know!”

Auri shoved his hand away, huffing but keeping her voice low, “Why not? I’m sure he’d be more than willing to bed you. Especially with all this going on.”

“Because I don’t know if that’s all it is,” Vilkas admitted, again. 

“Oh...oh, I can understand that.” She backed away and went to sit on the ground, patting the spot next to her.

The raven-haired man moved to join her, not exactly looking forward to the talk coming but knew it would at least be less embarrassing and confusing as the one with Hoth the other day.

“Have you thought about it?” She began to ask, resisting the urge to giggle when the man’s face started to turn pink, “About your feelings I mean?”

“Kind of? I don’t really know… Every time I try to all I do is remember the dream and I don’t want to do that.”

“Well, maybe that’s what your feelings are though? Maybe you just want sex from him?”

“No,” he denied outright, “No. I mean, I definitely care about him. He’s done a lot for me. Reminded me how much I love to fight, broke me out of my rut after Kodlak passed away, helped me and my brother...I just don’t…”

“You don’t want to risk ruining your relationship by making it more than what it is,” Auri said almost a little too knowingly.

“Yeah…”

The woman stretched out her legs, sighing a bit, “That is a tough one but I don’t think it’ll be that hard for you two. Kavan doesn’t dwell on things like that. All he cares about is helping people and making sure the people he’s close to are happy. I’m pretty sure if you just told him about everything he’d be understanding. I can’t say if he’d return your feelings, I’m not even sure he knows about things like that with as airheaded as he is.” Right then, as if on cue the pair heard Kavan drop a bottle on the ground and the glass shatter and they both glanced at each other with a bit of a laugh behind their eyes but she continued. “What I _do_ know is if you keep avoiding him, he’s going to feel worse and he needs us right now. I don’t know what the deal is with his mother but at the very least we can support him.”

Vilkas mulled over her words, appreciating her gentle wisdom. “You’re probably right.”

“No, I am right, you’re just finding this out. Now would you go to him and talk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll talk to him.”

“And maybe get yourself a piece of Breton ass?” Auri added on, winking. 

“...I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

The pair exited the tent, Auri laughing heartily while Vilkas followed, his face buried in his hand. 

Kavan had already gone to his tent after losing three games of Divine’s Folly to Inigo and Hoth and as Auri sat down next to Lucien, she and the mercenary both motioned to Vilkas to go meet him before the Nord could sit down as well. He hesitated but eventually did as he was bid.


	4. Honesty

The Breton was busy attempting to remove a boot, his armor laying on the ground, tunic hanging on a string, and dressed in only his trousers. The raven-haired man felt his mouth moisten at the sight, his mind flashing back to his dream and so he averted his gaze. 

“Yeh, what ye need, Vilkas?” the redhead asked without looking since he knew from the scent who it was who entered. His voice lacked any discernible tone which didn’t really help the man on how he was supposed to breach this topic.

“Can we...talk?” he managed to start, though his voice seemed to give a little crack he did not want.

“Sure. What’s up?” the spellsword asked, finally tugging off his boot, though falling over onto his back in the process and wriggling his toes at their freedom.

“I ah-uh…” Vilkas began to stutter, one of his more personally annoying traits he felt like. It only happened when he was nervous.

Kavan finally turned his full attention to his fellow, sitting up and noticing the stutter and realizing this was not just going to be a casual conversation. Of course even if it was going to be on the Nord’s end, the redhead had some slightly serious things he needed to get off his chest. Starting with why he was ignored for three days after Vilkas told him he didn’t blame him for losing control during their match...though...he kind of knew why. Didn’t mean he was going to make this easy for his fellow.

“I…” The raven-haired man finally looked at the other male, trying to ignore how seeing him without a top made him feel as well as how warm his face was feeling. “I should apologize.”

“Yeh, ye should,” Kavan stated, the tone the other man was looking for finally making an appearance in his voice.

The Nord bit his lip, telling himself he expected it. “Listen, I ah...I wasn’t avoiding you because of the sparring match. I really wasn’t. I’m sorry. I had a whole different reason.”

The redhead folded an arm over his chest, the other motioning to the ground next to him before folding over as well. “Well, what’s th’ reason then?”

Vilkas hesitated, his body really only wanting to turn around and run out of the tent but instead, he went and sat. Can you...just not look at me while I tell you?”

That was an odd request, prompting a look of very clear confusion from the Breton but he obliged, turning his head away to look at something else. 

Even with Kavan looking away, the man still felt the need to hide and so he buried his face in his hands, only leaving his mouth uncovered. “I ah-,” he paused to clear his throat, finding it suddenly scratchy and very tight, “I had a uh...had a...Divines save me...had a dream about you and I--”

Before he could even finish, a light smirk tugged at the corner of Kavan’s lips and he snickered slightly, his tone changing ever so little. “Dream ‘bout us doin’ _what_?”

Without seeing him, the snicker really just made this whole thing worse. Vilkas could feel his face burning, “About us...doing…”

“Doing… _?_ ” 

“Shor’s bones, I’m getting to it! We were--”

“Vilkas.”

The Nord went silent when he heard his name. The first thing coming his to mind was Kavan getting annoyed at his difficulties actually spitting the words out. He peeked through his fingers to see and wished he hadn’t. 

Before him, Kavan was not only facing him again, looking at him but was on his hands and knees in front of him, head cocked just enough to be at eye level with him. His breath exited his lungs, his brain only able to compare the vision to the fantasy. Then the scent hit again. Arousal. 

The grin painting the Breton’s lips was growing wider as he leaned in further, enough that he could feel the heat from the other’s body emanating off him. The smell was palpable but from how Vilkas was acting, he was certain the man hadn’t realized that it was coming from him.

“I know.”

The colour drained from the raven-haired man’s face, his eyes widening almost to that of saucers, his hands fell and he sat staring at the other male slack-jawed. 

“W-What?”

“I _know_ ,” the spellsword repeated, lowering his voice.

“How--I mean...how?” Vilkas asked, baffled and more than a little embarrassed.

“I know ye think I’m dumb but c’mon, how could I not know? Durin’ the match I though’ it was just me bloodlust but when I caught th’ scent after ye’d left… An’ everyday since...” He moved forward again, his head settling to hover by the Nord’s ear, “S’th’ same scent yer givin’ off right now.”

The Nord tried to speak but all he managed to get out was a shuddered exhale, a shiver working its way up his spine. 

Kavan shifted so he was in front of the other’s face again, eyes flickering. “Am I wrong?” he inquired, knowing full well he wasn’t.

“I-I ah-you-haaah…” The warrior’s mind was going a million miles an hour, trying to but unable to process the situation fully. “Is this…?”

“Another dream? I don’ think so, mate. If it were, I’d already have ye stark laid out an’ howlin’,” the redhead stated rather confidently, implicating exactly where his mind was at as well.

“N-no, no, wait. Hold on.” The Nord finally broke out of his trance suddenly, clearing his throat again and forcing his eyes to look anywhere but at the redhead before him even though he really, _really_ wanted to. “Are you actually interested in me or just hor-ah-horny because of me?” 

The question caught Kavan off guard, causing him to pull back and flop back down on his ass. “Ye didn’ know? Thought Farkas would’ve told ye by now, he said he was gon’a.” He started laughing a bit, “I told ‘im back durin’ my trial t’ join I thought ye was well fit.” 

“What? But that was years ago?”

“Yeh, I know. I planned t’ tell ye after we got back but ye were always so distant I decided not t’. Farkas told me before I went to Bruma he was gon’a tell ye if I didn’t ‘cause it was annoying ‘im that I only ev’r took jobs from ye an’ never from ‘im or Aela an’ then was just leavin’.” 

“I wondered about that...I only ever sent you on rescues. With your obsession with fighting I thought it was weird you never talked to those two about contracts.”

“Still surprised ye brother didn’ say anythin’ but guess the cat’s out o’ th’ bag now.”

“He was probably going to but forgot,” Vilkas admitted, thinking back on things. Then he realized the conversation was trailing from its original topic and suddenly he needed to clear his throat once again. “So...you thought I was attractive?”

“Cute too. Like, I tried flirtin’ with ye once but ye started sputterin’ and so I lied, said I was pokin’ fun. Wanted t’ do it again though. Seein’ ye all flustered got me hot an’ bothered.”

“Oh...that’s what that was?” the raven-haired man’s cheeks tinted again, remembering the moment Kavan was talking about. “I had no idea…”

The Breton made a popping noise with his lips, “Yeh, I guessed as much. Didn’t think twice ‘bout me ‘til th’ other night did ye?”

“Not really, no,” Vilkas confessed, feeling somewhat guilty. Here he was, worried about his feelings no being reciprocated but it turned out that he was the one not responding. 

“So...what do ye want, Vilkas? From me?” the redhead asked point blank. He had waited years, kept everything so buried down that even another werewolf couldn’t sense it but now that it was all out in the open- the time for games was over. 

The Nord awkwardly chuckled, scratching his head while still looking away. “Honestly, I don’t really know. That dream…,” he coughed lightly, “was the first time I ever thought about you...anyone like that and then after it was all I could think about but at the same time, I kept thinking about all you’ve done for me and I didn’t think it was right to be thinking about you in that sense.”

“Let me ask ye somethin’ and I want ye to look me in th’ eyes when ye answer,” Kavan said, shifting his weight to one hip on the ground. “Durin’ that dream, were ye participatin’ or was it just me doin’ whatever to ye?”

That brought back the red to Vilkas’s face but he forced himself to think carefully before meeting the other’s eyes. “I was...holding on to you...pulling you closer…”

“Did ye want what we were doin’ or did ye want me?”

“I wanted…” the man pulled his eyes away for just a moment, biting his lip before returning them back, “Both? I’m sorry, Kavan, I don’t really… It was…” He trailed off, eyes flying off to the side of the tent again. It was getting embarrassing to keep looking at the other male while talking about this.

“Ye...have had sex before, right?” Kavan asked after having a thought.

“Of course!” The denial of being inexperienced came a little too quickly and Vilkas realized that so he lowered his voice again, “Of course but it was never...I was never that into it. It would just kind of happen and I didn’t think about it after. But that dream...by the Divines…”

The redhead cracked another smirk, his head putting the pieces together. “So yer sayin’...it wasn’t just a dream...ye had a fantasy ‘bout me…”

“I don’t know, maybe?” Though even that sounded like a lie to both men. Vilkas knew he was just being indecisive, he just didn’t know why. 

“Alright. Then...what do ye want right now?” That question held a little more hopefulness than he’d intended to reveal but he just had to pray that the raven-haired man wouldn’t notice.

The Nord was silent for what felt like ages to the both of them finally brought his gaze back to the redhead, swallowing down a lump in his throat. For the first time that night he actually indulged in the sight of the other man, eyes taking in his bare muscled torso, hair-long on one side, nearly shaved on the other to show off his slightly pointed ear, practically immaculate facial hair. Really, Dibella blessed this man, why had it taken him so long to see him like this?

Kavan watched him carefully, doing his damndest to not show any anxious anticipation he was feeling even if he knew his scent was probably giving him away; just like Vilkas’s was doing to him. The man was shy, nervous- he couldn’t push him but gods why wasn’t he saying anything? He was starting to feel self-conscious with the other’s eyes trailing his form as they were, his own cheeks starting to tinge pink. 

* * *

Eventually it was too much for either of them. Neither knew who moved first but soon they were entangled in each other, mouths refusing to separate from desperate kisses, their teeth clacking against each other every so often in the frenzy. Removing the Nord’s armor was a task however once it was gone, Vilkas found himself on his back in nothing but his pants, Kavan above him straddling his lap, pinning his arms to the bedroll beneath them. They separated just enough to catch some air before going right back in for a few minutes longer at which point the spellsword examined the warrior under him, licking his top lip as he started rocking his hips. 

“Oo-oh...this is…” Vilkas groaned breathlessly.

“I take it th’ dream was somethin’ like this?” the Breton teased gently, lust dripping from his voice.

He moaned, “Almost...j-just like it…” 

“Oh yeh? Well…” he trailed off as he leaned down, beginning to nip at the other’s chin, “Let-” a nip further down his neck, “me-” nip at the collarbone, “give you…” He lingered at the Nord’s chest, tongue rolling across a nipple causing the raven-haired man to arc up as much as he could with his arms trapped, “a new fantasy…” 

His teeth caught the hem of Vilkas’s pants and pulled, tugging them down just enough to free his erection. A pleased gasp escaped above as the Nord felt the cool air hit him and he started to try and free his arms only to have the grip on them tighten. 

“Kav- _aaah_ …” he attempted to plead but the other’s name got caught in his throat as he felt warm wetness trail along his length, his ability to breath taking a vacation as he looked down and saw the redhead flashing him a devious smile. 

The Breton licked him again before swiping the tip- then taking the head in to his mouth. He felt a tingle of pleasure trickle through him at the sound of his partner’s moan- and he needed more. Kavan began to bob his head, still keeping a hold of the other’s arms despite the struggling until the warrior broke free. A hand made its way into his hair, grasping a fistful of ginger strands and he let it control him. With guidance, he took in more, swallowed longer and pulled back slower which only increased his own excitement. Now that he had free hands of his own, the redhead brought one up to finish drawing down the other’s trousers until they were gone after he maneuvered himself between thick thighs, holding one up while its twin rested on his shoulder. 

Vilkas couldn’t think- he was a mess. He took a quick glance after the other male had situated himself between his legs and damn near finished as he saw blue eyes staring back up at him, mouth wrapped around his member. 

“Yes...f--uck…,” he groaned loudly, his grip steering him back down.

Soon, Kavan’s hand made its way into his own pants, enclosing his length and stroking it in time with the pace the raven-haired man set, his own moans pulsing across the flesh in his mouth. Even if Vilkas had only recently thought about this, he himself had many a lewd imagining of the man in all manner of ways. The fact he was _finally_ able to act on those desires had him over the moons and gods it was so good. 

Every shudder, every jolt was met with grace as he refused to interrupt or miss anything. There were so many times when they were camping together out on a contract or after a battle he wanted nothing more than to do this. He could hardly believe he was able to mask the scent of his own arousal those nights. A breathy sigh sent tremors right to his groin and he increased the pressure of his grip. He looked, sounded, smelled, tasted so hot like this.

Vilkas’s body was trembling from the thrill, unable to take his eyes off his partner almost as if he was afraid he’d just wake up again like before but then the Breton would swallow around him or press his tongue on the right nerve and he’d flex uncontrollably from the wave of pleasure that hit. 

The Nord’s voice cracked in a moan as he hit climax, his fist keeping Kavan’s mouth firmly planted around his member as it throbbed until the waves faded. He finally let go, hand flopping down beside him and once the spellsword was done milking every little twitch and spasm from his spent flesh did he release it as well. The man remained where he was, hand still jerking at himself and Vilkas mustered his remaining strength to sit up, his previously guiding hand joining the other’s, pulling him out from inside the fabric of his pants. 

Now it was the raven-haired man’s turn to really hear the other as the redhead’s soft moans were no longer impeded. He shoved his knee between the other’s legs, spreading them so he could see both their hands continuing their administrations better. 

The Breton’s hips started to rock into their grasp, his other hand coming to wrap around the back of his partner’s neck. “F- _uuhhnn_ …” he hissed as his jaw tightened. 

Soon his hips began to jerk more rapidly, his hand and with it, Vilkas’s stroking more shallowly until his breath hitched and he came, shivering from each motion as the bliss washed over him.

* * *

They collapsed into each other’s shoulder, breathing heavily from their activities. 

Suddenly, Kavan started to chuckle, “Took ye...long enough…”

The warrior paused then started chuckling as well, and the redhead took advantage of the moment and his hand on the back of the other’s neck to steal a quick kiss. 

“What now, love?” he asked, that hopeful tone making a return.

“Love?” Vilkas pondered, shifting to look him in the eye. “...Kavan, what do _you_ want?”

“Ye mean aside from more nights like this?” he questioned suggestively. “I want ye, Vilkas. By me side in a fight, in me heart, in me bed. All o’ it. All o’ ye,” he stated so openly the Nord was a bit envious of the courage in it.

“You know I don’t feel that close with you yet, though. Are you okay with that?” the man asked, feeling that tinge of guilt again. 

The Breton nodded, stealing another kiss, “Ye like me well enough and ye haven’t said ye won’t want th’ same thing in the future. S’good enough fer me fer now.”

The raven-haired man chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second, wondering if it was really okay but...the expression on Kavan’s face told him it was alright. After all, he _did_ care about him and apparently he was very attracted to him. Probably even more so after tonight. 

This time, Vilkas committed to kiss theft, “Then I give you everything I am able to.”


	5. The Duchess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to write for me as writing abusive parents is always a triggering situation on my end but I'm glad I finally got through it.

The following morning the pair was met with knowing glances from everyone. Hoth and Auri both gave approving nods to Vilkas while Inigo couldn’t stop giggling like mad- and Lucien seemed to be almost scandalized by the knowledge of what the two fighters got up to last night.

Kavan, however, wasn’t quite as lucky in the amusement department as he was taken to the side by the captain of their escort. 

“My Lord, far be it from me to tell you your business but we were under the impression you were intended?” 

“Excuse me?” the redhead asked, though not terribly surprised. “Let me guess, me mum told ye that.”

“Yes sir. The Duchess stated to us that you were betrothed to Lady Giselle from the Wayrest court.” 

“Th’ Duchess is mistaken,” Kavan seethed through his teeth, “That engagement was ended years ago.”

“Are you certain, sir? Her Highness--”

“Yes, I am sure. Th’ lady an’ I both agreed. ‘Er interests lie with th’ fairer sex an’ I’m happy with me current situation.”

“But my Lord, what are we supposed to tell the Duchess about that?”

The Breton crossed his arms, scowling heavily, “I don’ care. Who I’m with, romantically or shaggin’ is none o’ her business.”

The guard clearly wanted to keep his protest going but he knew it was a losing battle. The spellsword was not likely to listen to it. 

Kavan walked away from the conversation, displeased and irritated and Vilkas knew it from all the way by the campfire.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, concerned. 

The spellsword exhaled deeply before throwing on a smile, “Everythin’ is fine, love. Just a misunderstandin’ is all.”

Everyone in the man’s party knew something was wrong after that morning. The escort guard’s _protection_ grew increasingly more restrictive, sometimes even trying to keep Vilkas from having contact with the future Duchess’s son, or attempting to steer conversations between the five friends away from anything having to do with love lives in general. Even Inigo and Lucien were starting to grow suspicious after a few nights where they spotted the guardsmen visibly disturbed or anxious when Kavan and Vilkas would retire to their tent and any sound was heard from inside. 

Whatever plans for her son the Duchess had seemed more and more dark as the group got closer to the kingdom.

* * *

  


Their arrival in Camlorn was slightly overwhelming. Their escorts had stopped a ways outside the gates to bring out large banners, coloured in rich gold and blues with the Duke’s crest adorning the center which signalled the gatekeep as to whom was approaching. On the other side of the gates, everyone was met with crowds of cheering people all eager to see the son of their future Highness, their energy charged even more by the coming events of the holiday, tourney and wedding. 

The buildings and across the tops of the roads were decorated lavishly in vines, baubles and lanterns. Streamers flitted in the breeze, the odd one occasionally breaking free of its tie and fluttering down to be trampled by the masses as they swarmed about the sidelines trying to catch glimpses of the lord’s company and by chance the lord himself. 

Lucien was stopped by a few Breton women who tried to gift him a crown made of flowers but they suddenly changed their minds as they caught the not so subtle glare from the Bosmer woman behind him, disappointing and confusing the blond but he continued to revel in the parade they were a part of. Meanwhile, the mercenary had already collected at least a dozen circlets and necklaces of blossoms and was still going and even Inigo was receiving some presents as well. 

Vilkas stuck close to his lover, bashfully turning down any favours that women and a few men tried to bestow upon him while Kavan merely held a distinctly fake smile and barely acknowledged the crowds. He begrudgingly accepted a single floral headdress placed on him by a priestess of Mara however he revealed shortly after that he knew the woman and they were friends which eased the slight bit of possessive jealousy that temporarily surged through the Nord at his side.

The crowd was thick for the most part through the city, only starting to dwindle the closer they drew to the keep until they arrived in the courtyard- Ducal sentries being the only humanoids present there. Their only assertion to the group being salutes to Kavan with their eyes forward and no words spoken.

The pain-in-the-side escort finally took their leave of the party, reporting their job was finished and they were to be debriefed and Kavan and his guests were to meet with the Duchey. No one was looking forward to that. 

“We will be right there with you, my friend,” Inigo assured the Breton with everyone’s agreements.

Though, even with that in mind, the spellsword’s anxious fear was still present. They meant well but they didn’t know his mother. 

* * *

After a little time, the group was summoned inside the keep, being directed straight to the throne room. There, sat on the large throne sat a man, gently plump with a finely trimmed goatee, carefully cut and styled brown locks sitting beneath a gold circlet utop creased wrinkles and oddly bushy brows. His eyes looked rather kind beneath their soft honey colour, crow’s feet at the corners showing he smiled genuinely often over his life. As the company funneled in the room, he straightened himself up, looking excited, mirroring his peoples’ feelings in the streets below the castle’s walls. 

Next to the Duke, his fiancée was rigidly perched in a smaller yet no less grand throne. Her ginger hair curled and tucked beneath and around her own crown, gold jewelry dripping from her ears and neck, cascading down and nearly being swallowed by her bosom that was perked tightly by her gown’s corset. Her eyes, though the same colour as Kavan’s were more striking, colder and piercing. Almost as if they were not real eyes but marbles placed in the sockets to resemble eyes- and they were fixed on her son as he entered the room. Despite her age, the woman’s face seemed almost as young as Kavan’s, another factor adding to her lifeless aesthetic as she seemed more of a statue than a person. The only thing that made her seem alive was her lips pursed together in a disgusted grimace like she had just tasted a molding sour lemon. 

Some of the group took the time to look around the room, noting the extravagant decor carefully placed like it was being curated in a museum. Even the architecture was over the top in its setup- marble and finely cut stone inlaid with gold. The windows were stained vibrantly, adorned with various scenes as though they weren’t windows but paintings. Vilkas caught sight of one window and grimaced. The large pane felt out of place with the rest of the room, its scene depicting a horribly violent display in the glass. A werewolf attack. Some of the beasts were being sliced open by soldiers while others suffered gruesome ends at the claws and teeth of the creatures, their blood spraying across the glass and shining thanks to the sunlight that poured through the colour from the other side. It was like a glorified portraiture of a wet dream from the Silver-Hand and it made the Nord’s skin crawl. 

Kavan and the rest stopped almost in the middle of the hall facing the thrones, the redhead dropping to one knee and only Lucien seemed to follow suit in bowing to the Duchy before them. 

The Duke laughed ever so lightly, “There’s no need for that,” he dismissed, bidding them to rise.

His wife however scowled at the members of the company that hadn’t joined her son and the Imperial in the bow but said nothing. Once her son was standing again, she rose from her seat, striding down the carpeted steps, her feet barely making any sound against the plush flooring as she made her way to her son.

The woman stopped right in front of the spellsword, “Let me have a look at you.” She put on a disgustingly fake smile as she brought her hand up to his face, her eyes looking over his visage. 

“Kavan, my darling. It’s so good to finally see you again after so long… You never wrote or came to visit me after you left. Even when your father passed. I’ve been so lonely…” It was obvious to everyone but the Duke who seemed completely oblivious that her words were empty and dripping with nothing but venom and the more she said, the more poisonous her tone grew. 

Then, suddenly, she withdrew her hand to the side, her other coming up and in one swift motion, the back of it, rings and all, smacked across Kavan’s cheek with a loud resounding smack that echoed through the room. The man’s face had been turned to the side with the blow and even when his mother started to speak again, he didn’t straighten it, his eyes merely burning a stare into the floor where his gaze landed. The amount of restraint his friends had to put forth to not move and defend him was painful, most of all to Vilkas.

“How cruel of a child you are…”

“Katarin!” came from the Duke. “We do not have need for such actions in my court. The boy is here now, forgive his transactions for he is to be my son.” The man told her commandingly. 

The future Duchess turned back to the Duke, her eyes wide with surprise that she had been the one reprimanded. She sputtered before bowing at the waist to him, “Yes, my lord, I apologize.” 

Kavan kept his face to the side, eyes forward until the man addressed him directly.

“And Kavan, please forgive your mother. She missed you terribly,” the Duke told him, standing from his throne and coming to stand next to Katarin. “In fact, she refused to go ahead with the wedding until she could see you again.” He grabbed the woman’s hand, smiling at her then to the Companion. “Whatever caused you to separate yourself from her, I hope you can put it aside and start anew so that we all can be a family, united.”

The redhead bit the inside of his cheek, a slight twitch hitting his face as he tasted blood as he looked to his mother, meeting her dead eyes, knowing. “I will do my best, Your Grace,” he gritted through his teeth, just barely being able to hold back the bitter distrust in his voice.

“And please, you can call me Mael. None of these titles from you, you’re about to be family after all.”

The rest of the time spent with the Duke and future Duchess made everyone in the party feel ill. Even after Katarin returned to her seat with her fiancé, her eyes never left her son with that barely hidden look that bordered on disgust and egotistical superiority they held- all the while the spellsword endured the burning stare and tried to listen attentively to the Duke while the man prattled on about the festival and the wedding, about how impressed he was with the Companion’s friends and his reputation, and how happy he was to have him there to celebrate. 

* * *

By the time they were dismissed, every single member of the group wanted nothing more than to leave the province. Including Lucien who up until the tense situation with his friend’s mother had still been extraordinarily excited. 

Thankfully, by the grace of the Duke, the group was given an entire apartment wing of the palace to live in during their stay and once the door to the main sitting room was closed, Auri let out a frustrated growl shocking the men. 

“I hate that woman. How could she humiliate you like that, Kavan? Why didn’t you say anything? What is her problem? By Y’ffre if there hadn’t been guards everywhere I would’ve--”

Hoth cut her off, “He couldn’t do _anything_. She’s going to be the Duchess and from how she was already sitting on that fucking throne she may as already be. Could you imagine how much worse that could’ve played out if he had said something?”

The spellsword flopped down on one of the sofas, still silent and looking utterly deflated- a concerning sight for the rest as they’d never once seen the Breton anything less than cheerful even during the worst of moments. Even with the werewolf blood in him, the mark from his mother’s hand was still red and slightly swollen which was a testament to how much strength the woman had and had put into her swat. 

Before Vilkas had a chance to try and comfort his lover, Inigo of all people got to it first. “We should go out and have some fun. Forget about that smelly woman.”

“I agree, though, speaking of smelly. It has been some time since we all last bathed and I am one for remedying that situation,” the Imperial joined in.

Kavan just closed his eyes and groaned at the suggestions but then when Vilkas came over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, he looked up to him spotting the subtle nod the Nord gave.

“Alright, fine. Ye bunch want t’ party, we’ll go party but ye,” he looked up at Vilkas again, giving him a sly smirk, “Are stayin’ wit’ me th’ whole night.”

The warrior’s face went red and he sputtered an agreement.

“Right then, with that settled, let’s get cleaned up and go enjoy the festival everyone!” the blond said with a clap.

As everyone went to head towards the baths, Auri grabbed their leader and brought him to the side. “Are you really okay?” she asked with concern. 

“T’ be honest, no, Auri but we’re here an’ there isn’t anythin’ t’ be done than try t’ get through it. As long as me mother is appeased, it should be smooth sailin’”

“But are you certain she’s going to be appeased?”

The redhead bit his lip, frowning, “Not likely but like I said, we’re here.”

The Bosmer sighed heavily, “Okay. But if something happens, I swear Duchess or no, I’ll put an arrow between her eyes if you ask me to.”

The man laughed a small bit, giving a weakly amused smile to her, “Thank ye, Auri.”


End file.
